The Spider and the Hawk
by greypilgrim127
Summary: Agent Barton was sent to kill Natalia Romanova. He made a different call. Natalia Romanova was supposed to live her life out for the Black Widow Ops. She made a different call. Clintasha fic, written in blatant disregard for the Brutasha storyline in AoU. Mild language and probably a lot of violence.
1. Prologue

**This is written in BLATANT DEFIANCE of the Brutasha pairing in Age of Ultron, because I seriously can't handle my OTP being ignored like that. Also, I'm completely not following the comics, so the accuracy of the events that happen hereafter are extremely questionable.**

Young Natalia Romanova was seven years old when stood behind the thick velvet curtain, blood racing, heart fluttering. Not good. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm her frantic nerves. It would not do to be frightened now…she shouldn't even be frightened by this point. It was her first mission, but she knew her orders by heart. How many times had she practiced this? Why did she always get so scared?

The answer came swiftly. She might fail. Young Natalia was afraid of the large men with their massive guns and heavy fists. She knew she had been trained over and over and over again, that there was no way an unarmed man could stand a chance against her. But she was still afraid.

The music quickened, and she recognized her cue. Running lightly out onto the stage with the other ballerinas, she leaped high into the air, throwing her head back and stretching out her slender arms. Three turns and a pas de chat later, she was on the opposite side of the stage.

The other ballerinas joined her and she slipped quietly through the curtain and was gone. Her eyes narrowed. Her target was still in the audience, but he was getting up. She melted into the shadows backstage and made her way out into the sparkling lobby.

A few people still stood out in the foyer, talking in hushed voices. The target went up the large staircase, eyes fixed on someone in the balcony. She hurried through several back hallways and up two flights of stairs until she could see the man again. He was right below her, talking to a second man.

She could take a shot from where she crouched by the gilded railings. But she was not to draw attention to herself unless there were no other options. She would have to take him out face to face.

In a few moments, she was standing behind him, hand resting on her tutu, right above the knife which he had hidden beneath the fluffy tulle.

The second man looked at her, startled, and her target turned around. He smiled in surprise.

"Hello, little lady. Aren't you one of the ballerinas?"

She nodded.

"How come you aren't dancing?"

She didn't answer.

"Well? That's no way to talk to your elders."

The second man laughed. "Oh come on, she's only a little girl. Hey, how old are you?"

"Seven." Natalia's voice was still soft and high pitched.

"You lost or something?" her target asked. "Here, lemme take you back downstairs."

He reached for her hand. She grabbed it tightly and then threw herself backwards, kicking his jaw as she flipped. He stumbled several paces back, stunned, but before he could cry out, she darted forward again, kicking his legs out from under him. The knife whipped out from under her skirt and she slashed downwards.

Blood sprayed onto her hands, her face, startling her momentarily. She had not guessed it would be so red…or so warm. The other man started to yell and she threw the knife. He went down with a gurgle.

She looked up from her crouched position. The guests below had not heard a single thing. Perfect. She quietly opened her target's coat and withdrew several sealed envelopes. She grasped them tightly and, bloodstained, left the theater.

* * *

Her supervisor wiped the blood from her face and took the letters.

"Well done." She said crisply.

Those two words….the two words Natalia lived for.

"Burn those ballet costumes and go to bed." The order came swiftly.

Natalia half wished she could have kept them, even in their bloodied condition. She had enjoyed the brief moments on stage, the bright lights of the auditorium, the murmuring gasps of the audience, the thrill of leaping and bounding across the stage. She quietly tossed the tutu into the flames in the kitchen and retired to bed, where a nurse handcuffed her to the iron frame.

In the darkness, she remembered again and again the feeling of red blood spraying onto her hands, the gurgle the dying man had made as the knife entered his throat, the way the light faded from their eyes…

She had made her first two kills, completed her first mission, earned the praise of her supervisors. And in the darkness, young Natalia silently cried.

* * *

Young Natalia was eleven years old when she assassinated her first major political leader. She still danced and she still loved to dance, but she no longer felt fear. She was no longer afraid of the large men and their heavy guns or their dark eyes. She was no longer afraid of the feel of blood splattering her skin or the way the gurgled when they died. So why did her heart still race and her head still pound as she stood behind the velvet curtain?

The answer came swiftly. She must dance. And she was afraid she would slip and fall as she pirouetted across the bright stage. She was afraid the audience would laugh at her…

She was still afraid to be alone and she was still afraid of her supervisors. No one was kind to her.

* * *

Young Natalia was fifteen years old when she first met the Asset, who had once been called James Buchanan Barnes. He was quiet but taught her well. And Natalia learned that not all her superiors were cold or cruel. The Asset cared about the young girls who were being slowly broken for the Black Widow Program.

The Asset tried to take her and run. Away from the Red Room, away from the Soviets.

"You're only a child." He had said, "You're not meant for war."

And Natalia wondered why he cared about their insignificant lives. But they were caught and the Asset was taken away. When she saw him again, he was in a cryotube, eyes closed, unresponsive behind a pane of frosted glass. The first one to ever show Natalia kindness was gone. And thus she learned the consequences for such sentiment.

* * *

Young Natalia was seventeen years old when she became a Black Widow and went through the ceremony which transformed her from a human to a killer. Natalia felt a vague sensation of fear at the thought, but ignored it.

"I have no place in this world."

* * *

Natalia was not that young when she was told she was to accompany Boris Turgenov in the assassination of Anton Vanko, who defected from the Soviet Union. It was her first mission to the United States. It was her last mission for the Black Widow Ops.


	2. Chapter 1

Natalia stared at the hospital blazing in front of her. The screams of those trapped inside rang in her ears like a thousand bees.

"The hospital is to be destroyed." Turgenov had told her harshly, "And then get your ass out of there. Don't let SHIELD catch you."

SHIELD had been on her tail for three days. She'd eluded their grasp and obediently followed out the orders given to her. Until now.

Her breath came in a shuddering sob. She should not have glanced backwards as she left the hospital. But she had. And she had seen a young child, caught between a white wall and crackling wave of flames. She had seen an old woman go up in a blazing inferno of dancing light. She'd seen a mother, screaming, as she tried to shield her baby from the roaring heat. Natalia was not just a killer. She was a murderer.

She turned and limped away from the blazing building, suppressing the cries which boiled up in her throat to strangle her. Enough. It was the last straw.

Natalia was tired. She was exhausted. She was sick of the death and the darkness that always followed her steps. She hated the way she felt satisfied as another victim collapsed under her hand.

She was credited with five major political leaders, sixteen business heads, and now an entire hospital of shrieking innocents. She heard a twig snap behind her and the faint click of a gun and took off in a moment.

Pain flashed in her side and she stumbled for a moment but then kept running. Out of nowhere, a dark figure bore down on her, knocking her to the ground. They rolled down a small hill before crashing into a bush. Natalia could feel the thin branches scratching her neck and cheek. She reached for her knife and slashed upwards quickly. Her attacker dodged and then punched her in the face. Her head swam, but she slithered out from his grasp and then slit his throat. Her pursuers were coming closer and she had lost a precious few minutes.

She scrambled to her feet and fled again, panting like a hunted animal. She was sick….heartsick and exhausted. She couldn't bear the thought of going back to her supervisors to tell them she had nearly been caught. To be assigned yet another cold mission. Natalia limped into an abandoned building and then darted up the stairs as a gun shot rang out behind her.

Blood trickled out of her side and her knee ached as she ran. Three agents suddenly came around the corner. Before they could react, she had fired two rounds and thrown her knife. They collapsed. Natalia tossed her useless gun to the side and snatched up the knife. Another gunshot startled her and she threw the knife in the direction of the shot. She heard a groan and a thump and then kept running.

Hearing footsteps from the floor above her, she turned into a dark room and pushed the door shut, crawling into a corner. She could hear the SHIELD agents running past outside and she leaned her head back against the grimy wall, and for the first time in years, a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, leaving a trail on her sooty cheek.

The screams of the building still rang in her ears. Enough, enough. Natalia was ready for it to end. She had seen enough blood to last her ten lives. She'd seen enough darkness and death to satisfy the most sadistic of her superiors. She'd experienced enough pain and humiliation to face going back to them and tell them that SHIELD had cornered her, unarmed. That she had even been careless enough to lose a weapon.

The footsteps of the agents died away and Natalia relaxed for a fraction of a second. Then the door opened and she froze again.

She stared at the man who walked in. He was barely a man, maybe a few years older than her. His light brown hair was cropped close to his head and his bluish eyes surveyed the room keenly before focusing on her. He aimed the barbed tip of an arrow at her, head tilted to one side. His footsteps were soft and his hand was steady.

"He's good." Natalia thought.

Natalia knew he had been searching for her for three days now, that with her death on his record, he would probably become a national hero. He would have killed Natalia Romanova, the Black Widow. And Natalia would be free. He had come slightly closer and Natalia's instincts were kicking in.

 _Close contact to minimize usage of bow. Kick to the legs to compromise balance and follow with punch to the larynx to prevent contact with backup. Avoid other hidden weapons and thigh choke if initial attack unsuccessful._ She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to quiet the relentless situation assessment screaming inside her mind.

Then she stared back at the man, eyes wide, but not with fear. She had thought, if she ever allowed herself to die, that she would go down under a blaze of gunfire, taking with her as many of her enemies as possible. Not like this, unarmed, helpless, like an undignified sewer rat. She didn't care.

"Я не вооружен." (I'm not armed) She said, trying to concentrate on keeping her voice from shaking.

"Thought you'd put up more of a fight." His voice gave away how young he was, not just in age, but in experience. He hadn't seen even a quarter of the amount of bloodshed she'd been through. And she would have given anything to switch places with him. "This really how you want to go out?"

She looked back at him, wishing he'd just shoot her through the head and get it over with.

"Hey—um—can you speak English? Cause I can speak Russian too. And this is awkward."

"Don't talk. Just do it." Natalia whispered hoarsely. Her mind was screaming at her now. _Jump while target is unaware. Twist bow out of grasp and disable with kick to temple. If initial attack unsuccessful, compromise balance with sweep to legs._

"I really expected you to bite my neck out or something." The young agent replied, brows furrowing as he looked at her. He was curious.

"Just do it!" Natalia screamed. And then she couldn't help it. She lurched forward against her will, ready to strangle the target. She dodged clumsily as he let an arrow fly, and then collapsed against the wall, sobbing. "Please…please just kill me."

She hated him…she hated him for making her beg. Why wouldn't he just do it? It was her choice to die, and he had snatched this last bit of freedom away from her. Of all the agents who would have been screaming and jumping at the chance to end her life, she had to get the one with compassion.

"Please…" She whispered.

A strange look passed over his face and then he drew another arrow, aiming for her forehead. Natalia closed her eyes as she heard the whizz of the dart being released.

 **Confession time: I don't speak Russian! So I have no idea if I wrote it correctly. I just used Google translate, so apologies to any Russian scholars. :P Part of this story was inspired by a Tumblr post, for anyone who recognized it. Your feedback is appreciated!**


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